Reckless Angel

by Maggie Shayne

  Pretty nice thing for a morally bankrupt criminal to do.

  He’s probably still trying to confuse me, she reminded herself.

  “I could’ve sworn you just smiled,” he said slowly. “Did I finally do something right?” As he spoke, he turned toward the dresser, snagged the tie loose and tossed it down. He looked tired—drained. His gaze met hers in the mirror, and his lips curved slightly in response to her alleged smile. She caught just a trace of the whiskey’s aroma clinging to him.

  “I suppose, if I had to be abducted and held against my will by a two-bit hood, I could’ve done worse than you.”

  “Don’t heap such extravagant compliments on me, lady. You’ll swell my head.”

  She smirked at him, her relief that he hadn’t discovered her secret making her feel easy for once in his presence.

  “Before I forget again,” he continued, facing her. “Who is Katrina?”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “K-Katrina…who?”

  “Damned if I know. You had a message on your machine last night—a woman. She said something about wanting to know what Katrina was up to.”

  There were only two possibilities that crept into her mind. Her agent or her mother. She swallowed hard, wishing she could hear the rest of the message. “Katrina is, um, an old friend. I’ve known her since I was a little girl.” That much was true. Before Katrina had developed into an ex-KGB supersleuth, she’d been the imaginary friend of a four-year-old. Later she’d been a fictional big sister Toni used to threaten bullies. She’d even had occasion to blame Katrina for her own offenses, when she’d had guts enough to commit any. “She’s a rather adventuresome lady.” She glanced up to see if he believed her. He seemed to be accepting what she said. “Did the caller say who—”

  “I think it might have been your mother.”

  The air all left her lungs. Toni sunk slowly to the edge of the bed, her eyes on the floor. She’d hoped her mother wouldn’t miss her right away. “Did she…did she sound worried?”

  His gaze slid away from hers. “A little. For what it’s worth, I took enough of your stuff to make it look like you’d gone away for a few days. If she checks, she’ll think—”

  “Mom knows I’d tell her if I were going away.” Toni closed her eyes slowly and tried to remind herself that Kate del Rio was not exactly a fragile, elderly parent who needed protecting. In fact, if she knew where her daughter was right now, she’d probably kick the door in, grab Nick Manelli by the scruff of his neck and give him a swift kick.

  “You’re that close?” Nick’s voice made it sound as if she’d just claimed the impossible.

  Toni opened her eyes slowly. “She’s my mother.” He scowled and shook his head. She had the distinct impression that he did not believe her. She could have kicked herself for the overwhelming urge to convince him, and still she found herself doing just that. “Maybe we’re closer than most, but that’s because we need each other. For a long time, we haven’t had anyone else. But it’s more than that, because we enjoy being together.” She paused and drew a shaky breath. “She’s my best friend.” She sought Nick’s face and found it with an expression of bewilderment, his gaze still focused on her. He was listening—raptly.

  He pulled his gaze away and tried to sound casual. “What kinds of things do you do together?”

  His voice had come out minutely tighter than before, and Toni wondered why. “Everything. We do a lot of shopping. Mom has a wonderful sense of style. We both love the theater—we saw Phantom three times.” Toni laughed softly. “Mom loved that musical. If we get really bored, we sometimes go to a nightclub.”

  “With your mother?”

  Toni realized how ridiculous that might sound to him. “You’ve never seen my mother. When we’re together, people usually think we’re sisters.” She saw the skepticism clearly on his face. “You don’t believe me?” She glanced around the room, spying her purse on the stand where she’d left it. She reached for it and tugged out her wallet, flipping it open and slowly turning photographs in their holders until she came to the one she wanted. Her mother smiled back at her from a smooth, unlined face with skin as tight and clear as it had been when Toni was a little girl. High cheekbones always dusted with a hint of blusher, and clear, sparkling blue eyes beneath perfectly arched brows gave her a regal appearance—but her long blond hair, curlier than Toni’s was, right to the ends, softened that look with a touch of wildness.

  Toni handed the wallet to Nick and had the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen. “That’s your mother?”

  “Umm-hmm.”

  He shook his head. “She looks great.”

  “She is great. She’s been great to me, and I don’t want to cause her all this worry. She’s had enough grief in her life. She’s going to worry herself sick about me if she doesn’t hear something….” She broke off as he handed her the wallet, and looked skeptical again. “For God’s sake, wouldn’t your mother worry if you dropped off the face of the earth without a word?”

  “Not only would she not worry, she wouldn’t know. If she did, she wouldn’t care.” His voice held more bitterness than Toni could believe. He went on, his voice devoid of any emotion, his expression shuttered. “She walked out when I was thirteen, and I haven’t seen her since,” he said.

  Toni swallowed hard, thinking of the pretty young woman in the photograph. How could she have walked out on her own son—two sons? “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” She closed her wallet and dropped it back inside the purse.

  “I’m not.” He released the top buttons of his shirt and stalked into the living room. Toni followed.

  “Then your father raised you alone?” She shouldn’t be so curious about his background. She certainly didn’t care. But he’d lost his mother—she’d lost her father. The only difference was, he pretended not to care.

  He walked to the stereo system, chose a CD without hesitation and dropped it in. In a moment Ray Charles’s voice moaned “Georgia on My Mind,” and Nick sunk into a chair. He leaned back, hands behind his head, legs stretched in front of him. “Last I knew, my old man was doing eight to fifteen in Attica. He went up in sixty-nine.”

  “Then he should have been out almost ten years ago, shouldn’t he?” Toni felt her stomach turn over. Had his father gone to prison before his mother had abandoned him or just after? She couldn’t help seeing the sweet, dark-haired little boy in the photo, with his front tooth missing, and feeling the incredible hurt he must’ve felt then.

  Nick shrugged. “I never bothered to find out.”

  “What was he—”

  Nick’s head came up. “That’s enough, Antonia. I’m not up to telling you my life story, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to hear it.” Again he tipped his head back and folded his arms behind it.

  Toni took a seat on the sofa and studied him. The tension in his body seemed to be ebbing. He’d been wound up and nervous from his encounter with Taranto when he’d first come in. Now the mellow piano and the soothing voice coming from the speakers seemed to be calming him.

  “You like the blues,” she said, unconsciously keeping her voice low in respect for the music. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Relaxes me.”

  She shifted, feeling anything but relaxed. “Was it whoever was here before that got you all tensed up, or talking about your parents?”

  He didn’t move. “You don’t know when to quit, do you? Okay, I’ll bite. How’d you know someone was here?”

  “It was a guess. I saw the red light come on, by the panel.”

  His head moved enough to nod. “Sharp lady.”

  “Are you going to tell me who it was?”

  “What do you think?”

  Antonia sighed and got to her feet. He’d given away all he was going to. Her stomach protested softly, and she realized it must be nearly noon. “Am I allowed to help myself to some lunch?”

  He nodded. “Can you cook?”

  “It is not one of my more highly developed skil
ls. I was thinking along the lines of a sandwich or some cottage cheese.” She walked to the refrigerator and scanned its contents. “Or some yogurt,” she said, spying the row of containers.

  “Help yourself.”

  Toni hesitated, then shrugged. “You want one?”

  His eyes opened and focused on her. “Why not?”

  She picked peaches and cream for her, strawberry banana for him, located two spoons and carried them to the living room. She held the plastic cup out to him, and he took it. Their fingers touched and for a moment that seemed eternal, Toni didn’t take her hand away. When she did, she felt flustered and not sure what to say.

  Something had passed between them. Some unspoken agreement or understanding. He wouldn’t hurt her. She’d be safe as long as she was with him. He’d been saying so all along, but she was suddenly sure of it. She didn’t quite hate him anymore. She was beginning to see that there were reasons he’d become what he had—strong emotions that had shaped him into the man he was. If he was bitter, it was no wonder.

  He seemed content to relax there with the music filling the room. Toni was eager to write down some of the interesting discoveries she’d made here and begin to fit them into her plot and Katrina Chekov’s world. She hesitated, though. The fact remained that she was Toni Rio and her book would ruin Lou Taranto. If Nick found out, all bets were off.

  She finished her yogurt. “You speak any Spanish, Nick?”

  “Not a word,” he said, taking his last bite. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes from him as he licked the pink cream from his lips. “Although I can tell when you’re swearing at me.” He got up at long last, carried the cup to the kitchen sink and rinsed it. “I have to go out again. I might be a while.”

  Toni sighed loudly.

  “Don’t tell me you’ll miss me.” He was mocking, but not cruelly.

  “In your dreams, I might.” She took her cup to the sink as he had, rinsed it, then turned, leaning her back on the drain board. “I don’t like being locked up here alone. There’s not a window in the place, not a soul to talk to—”

  “There’s the stereo,” he said, pointing. “There are all those books.” He pointed once more. “Besides, you can use the time to do some writing. If you get sick of that, there’s a TV in the bedroom—”

  “What’s wrong with this one?” Toni couldn’t resist asking.

  “Not working right now,” he replied without missing a beat.

  Toni chewed the inside of her lip. “If I spend every day sitting in this apartment, I’ll gain twenty pounds inside a week. I run every day, for God’s sake. I can’t vegetate for God knows how long just because it’s convenient for you.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the fridge. “Piling it on a bit, aren’t you? It’s only been one day.”

  She smirked at him. “I thought you’d understand. You obviously work out—”

  His brows shot up. “Not much slips by you, does it?” His amusement stirred her anger, but not for long. “How about a deal?”

  Her curiosity rose on its hind legs. “What kind of deal?”

  “I have a gym downstairs, in the basement. You behave yourself while I’m gone, and I’ll take you down there.”

  “When?” She sounded too eager, but she couldn’t take it back now. She truly was beginning to feel like a caged animal.

  “As soon as I can. But right now I have to go.” Toni sighed in resignation, while his tiger-striped eyes perused her face.

  He stepped closer, looked down at her, smiling slightly. “I wouldn’t be averse to a kiss goodbye if you’re interested.”

  “Since when do you ask permission?” She tried to make her answer sting, but her eyes went to his full lips the minute he asked the question.

  He shrugged. “Is that a yes?”

  “Only if you’d like to kiss my knuckles, Manelli.”

  He nodded, his face splitting in a broad grin. “Atta girl. For a minute there I was afraid you might be losing your spunk.” He tousled her hair playfully as he spoke, then his hand stilled, buried in her hair. He took it away slowly so the long tendrils slipped between his fingers. Toni pushed off from the sink, ducked under his arm and moved quickly to the bedroom, where she’d left the notebooks.

  She picked them up. “I’ll take your advice and do some writing, then. See you later.” She closed the bedroom door.

  A moment later she heard him leave and she relaxed again. She’d have to be careful or she’d wind up liking the man. She’d have to keep reminding herself that no matter what kind of horrible childhood he’d had, it was no excuse for what he did now. Lots of people had lousy family lives and still managed to grow up and become productive citizens.

  She was surprised that she was able to put him from her mind and concentrate on writing. The words flowed from her at a remarkable rate. Time slipped by without her being aware of it. Pages filled, one after another. She wrote in Spanish so he wouldn’t be able to read it and guess what she was doing.

  Nick couldn’t explain why he’d told her the things he had. He talked to no one about his family. He didn’t even allow himself to think about them. None of it mattered; it was in the past and that’s where it should remain. It had no bearing on his life today. With one exception. Danny’s death was at the core of his need to end Lou Taranto’s reign as king of the underworld. The man had been getting rich on other people’s sufferings for too long. It would end. Nick would be the one to end it.

  He ran the errands necessary that afternoon, taking the money Taranto had given him to three different banks to exchange it for clean bills. It wouldn’t be surprising if Lou had somehow marked the bills and was keeping track of them. He then went to a small gym and left the money in an envelope in one of the lockers.

  He told himself he shouldn’t be thinking about the little Gypsy alone and restless in his apartment. He shouldn’t allow Antonia to haunt his thoughts the way she was. He shouldn’t keep catching phantom traces of her scent on every wayward breeze. He shouldn’t unconsciously rub his fingertips together, remembering the feel of her silken hair. He certainly shouldn’t keep imagining how it would feel to hold her—to wrap his arms so completely around her tiny body that she’d be enveloped in him.

  Nick blinked fast, shocked at the path of his thoughts. They’d come to a tentative truce, if he’d read her right this morning. He couldn’t revert to total animosity between them by coming on like a cave man again. He’d get a lot more cooperation from her if he could keep things friendly between them, but not too friendly.

  By the time he returned to the hulking mansion, it was dusk. The sky beyond the house was only a shade lighter than the house itself. The place looked haunted. Big and dark and ugly. It wasn’t a home—not anybody’s home, but least of all his. It was just a cover. Something the government set him up with to help convince Taranto he was a productive criminal. The truth was, Nick didn’t have a home. A small apartment in Brooklyn served as a base when he wasn’t undercover. He wasn’t sure he wanted a home. It would be too damn empty.

  He picked up the white paper bag with the cartons of Chinese food inside and hurried up the two flights to the apartment. When he went in, Antonia was on the couch with her legs curled beneath her. She bent over a notebook, and her pencil was flying over the lines. She was so engrossed, she didn’t even hear him. He quietly set the food down and went back through the door to pick up the telephone he’d left in the study. He carried it inside and closed the door, and still she didn’t look up.

  His curiosity got the best of him, and he walked up behind her and glanced over her shoulder, frowning when he saw line upon line of Spanish words. So she didn’t want him reading what she wrote? Interesting.

  “Productive afternoon?”

  She looked up fast and slammed the notebook closed. Her eyes had a spark in them that he hadn’t seen before. It was like the effect of certain amphetamines. He had the feeling as she looked at him that she wasn’t really seeing him, but was ins
tead still at least partially immersed in whatever she’d been writing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You look…driven.”

  “It’s going pretty well,” she told him. Her gaze fell to the telephone tucked under his arm, and the zealous gleam left her eyes entirely. “I’ve heard of portable phones, but isn’t that a bit much?” Her attempt at humor was lame, at best. It didn’t fool him for a second. He set the phone down, cursing himself for bringing it in now when he should have waited until she was distracted in another room. It was cruel to let her see it when he couldn’t let her use it.

  He grabbed up the bag and took it to the kitchen. “I brought food. You like Chinese?”

  “It’s fine.” Her voice sounded dead.

  Nick sighed hard. He walked to the couch and sat close beside her. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” She looked everywhere but at him.

  He cupped her chin and pulled her head around so he could see her eyes. His thumb traced her jawline of its own will. “You might as well say it, Antonia. Your face is too expressive.”

  She pulled her face from his grasp. “You have the telephone,” she said slowly. “It would be so easy to let me call her.” She got to her feet, restless.

  Her mother again. He’d actually thought he’d won that argument. “I would if I could. I’m not doing this just to be cruel, you know.” He stood, as well.

  “You could let me call if you wanted to. Just plug the damn thing in—stand beside me with your gun to my head. Blow my brains out if I say one wrong word. I just want to let her know I’m okay—”

  He gripped her shoulders, silencing her tirade. “Use your head, will you? If your mother doesn’t act worried, it will be obvious to Taranto that you’re still alive.”

  “Taranto doesn’t know my name,” she whispered. “How can he watch her if he doesn’t know who I am? Unless…you’re going to tell him.”

  He released her and threw his hands in the air. “Of course I’m not—dammit, I thought we were past this stage. I’m not going to tell him anything about you, but that won’t stop him from finding out. And when he does, you can bet he’ll watch your mother. If she acts suspicious, he’ll do more than just watch her. It would be just like Lou to assume she knew where you were and try to make her tell him, and if that happens—”